


Before Dawn

by Sheliak



Category: Books of the Raksura - Martha Wells
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 02:36:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20575043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheliak/pseuds/Sheliak
Summary: In which Moon runs afoul of a second flight of Fell, well ahead of schedule.(See author's note for clarification about the warnings.)





	Before Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lastwingedthing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lastwingedthing/gifts).

> Warnings clarification:
> 
> While there is no rape in the story, it is referenced heavily enough that I did not feel comfortable tagging this fic as No Archive Warnings Apply.

Living in a city, Moon thought grimly, had definitely been a mistake.

In smaller settlements, he always knew when the Fell showed up. Here, the ruling council had apparently decided to keep the first Fell ruler’s visit a secret, and the smells of the city had concealed the stench from Moon. He’d found out at the same time as everyone else—far too late.

He should have known better, after Saraseil. But the comparative anonymity had meant it was easier for him to avoid suspicion. He’d been so tired of moving on quickly… 

And now he had roughly half of the flight after him. 

He’d shifted; being mistaken for a Fell had seemed like less of a risk than being eaten by one. Unfortunately, the Fell themselves had seen him, and apparently he was more interesting than a city full of panicked groundlings. 

“Consort,” a dakti said. Its lips weren’t moving; a ruler was speaking through it. “You know better than this.” 

Moon kicked with his disemboweling claws, and surged ahead without checking how much damage he’d done. It didn’t matter if he killed one dakti now or not; there was the swarm to worry about, and it was almost on him. 

Three buildings later, the ruler spoke again, through another dakti. “Why try again now, after all this time? We always catch you in the end.” 

At first he’d assumed that this was the same flight as before. But the details were wrong. He was pretty sure they were mistaking him for someone else. _Great. Another flight’s after me now._ And they knew _what_ he was, if not who. Why did all these Fell know what he was, when even he didn’t? 

That thought was interrupted by a kethel erupting out of what had been a public building, directly ahead of him. Moon turned to his left, and nearly flew into a ruler. 

A dakti took advantage of his shock to land on his back, and in the time it took him to throw it off, the kethel caught up to him. After a brief scuffle, it managed to pin Moon to the ground. 

The ruler landed by them. Moon lashed his tail; missed. The kethel thumped him on the ground, and he felt something break as he lost the shift, transforming back to groundling. 

“Not the old consort, then. But she’ll be happy to get a new one. He’s been failing anyway.” 

_Consort._ Why did they keep calling him that?

They took him up almost to the top of the dry coral cliffs the Kilur city was (had been) built into. Moon wasn’t sure what this area had been used for; parts of the cliffs had been abandoned for some time. 

How long had they been here, and he hadn’t noticed? 

Another ruler was waiting there. 

“Wanted to take a look for her? Just as well. She’d probably kill him on a whim just now.” 

The new ruler didn’t respond, only yanked back Moon’s head to get a better look. Moon froze when their eyes met. 

It wasn’t the ruler looking back at him. Something else was watching out of that ruler’s eyes, reaching out with his hand, the same way rulers used dakti. Then whatever it was laughed—and the pitch seemed wrong for that body—and it was over. 

“Yes, she’ll want him after she has this clutch,” the new ruler said. “_Such_ a stroke of luck.” 

Almost before the echo of his words faded, a shadow and a gust of clean wind heralded the arrival of a second kethel, flanked by a dakti. The kethel settled, wings folded, and the dakti hopped forward, always keeping a safe distance between itself and the rulers. And Moon. 

Up close the new kethel was smaller than average, Moon thought—only about twice the size of his own shifted form. Then again, it wasn’t as if he’d seen many kethel this close. 

He’d been near plenty of dakti, though, and none of them had watched him like this, cautious and evaluating. Not much like the mindlessly destructive beings he’d encountered in the past, and even in this same flight. 

One of the rulers—the one that had caught Moon—spread its wings, filling space as if in an attempt to intimidate. (Why bother?) “See? Another consort. You can go tell the other one.”

It was an obvious dismissal, but instead of leaving, the dakti hissed, “_She_ wants our consort to see him.” As it spoke, it jumped back out of the ruler’s reach, hopping up on the kethel’s shoulder and gripping one of its horns for balance. When the ruler didn’t respond, the kethel took a step forward. 

To Moon’s surprise, the ruler backed up in response—and so did the kethel that had been holding him, letting him go in the process. 

That was strange. He’d never heard of a ruler deferring to a lesser Fell, even reluctantly. Rulers _ruled;_ dakti and kethel were their tools, weapons, and occasionally voices. 

Moon tried to make a break for it, of course. But the broken ribs slowed him down enough for the new kethel to catch him and take off.

* * *

This time, it didn’t carry him for long. He thought that it simply left that cave and took him to the mouth of another—but this time, they went further into the cliff, and then down. 

The kethel set him down and immediately jumped up again, extending its wings as it did. It settled somewhere above, claws scraping on coral. 

Moon looked around. He was in a round gap in the coral, tall curving walls pockmarked with crevices and what looked like smaller caves, lit by phosphorescent lichen. The gap above was fairly small; the kethel’s spread wings covered most of it. 

He might be able to get through that gap, though, if he was fast enough—

“Don’t,” said a new voice. “You might get past him, but you’ll never fight your way free, and they’ll break your wings to keep you from trying it again.” 

Moon whirled to face the sound. 

The speaker wasn’t a Fell. 

He looked like Moon, like Moon’s dead family, thin and copper-skinned with a long shock of fair curly hair, like Moon’s sister Fern had had. There was a dull cast to his skin, though, and he moved as though he were in pain, slow and careful. 

The stranger walked towards Moon as he spoke, leaning on the wall for support. He looked upset, almost frantic. “Do you know if there are any other survivors from your court? Kethel and First didn’t see any, but—“

“My _what?_” 

The stranger looked at him as if he’d grown a second head. “Your court, colony—“

“I was living with the Kilur, and they’re dead now.” A few might’ve made it out, but he wasn’t about to tell this stranger that, not if the Fell might actually care that they’d missed a few stragglers from their meal. 

Apparently that answer was as strange as the question had been to him. “And before that?” the stranger demanded. 

“Before that I was on my own.” 

The stranger looked stricken, or maybe just horrified. “…I’m sorry.” He drew a deep breath. “We can’t… truly protect you. But we’ll do what we can, I promise you that.” 

Something had been bothering Moon all this time—something besides the Fell stench everywhere—and he’d finally figured out what it was. It was the language. They weren’t speaking any of the groundling languages Moon knew, or the Fell language that he didn’t. This stranger was talking to him in the language he hadn’t spoken since his mother and siblings died. And he was acting like he had some kind of obligation to Moon. 

Moon had given up searching for his people half his lifetime ago, and now he might have found one. Trapped by a Fell flight, and apparently taking a kethel’s word for things. 

It all came back to the Fell, in the end. 

But still. This was his chance to learn more, despite everything. “You’re a… shifter, too?” 

“… You don’t know. …How long were you on your own?” 

Moon crossed his arms. He didn’t see how this stranger had a right to be scandalized by his upbringing. “About thirty turns.” 

“Since you were a fledgeling. And before then… Do you know what court you were born in?”

“We lived in a tree, not a court. Whatever that is.” 

“No court… Who raised you?”

“My mother. Her name was Sorrow.” 

“So might mine have been, if there had been someone to talk to sooner. But as it is, I’m Memory.” He sighed. “She must have been fleeing something, to call herself that. And to live alone… ” 

Moon wasn’t sure if that was meant as an insult. “There were five of us. She wasn’t alone.” 

“For us, it nearly is. And we’re not meant to live alone… or so close to it.”

_And is living with Fell so much better?_ Moon almost asked. Instead he said, “Why are you so sure you know what I am?” 

Memory bit his lip, and decided that explaining was too difficult. He shifted instead. 

He shifted like Moon did, like his siblings and their mother had, as if he’d switched places with another version of himself. And when he shifted, he looked like Moon, the same spines and frills, even to the subtle hint of color underneath his black scales. 

He held the shift only a moment, as if he was too ill to stay in this form for long. Then he collapsed, in groundling form again, against the wall. “You… look like that, don’t you? In your other form.” 

Moon considered shifting to show him; it wasn’t as if the Fell here didn’t know. But he’d shifted once on these broken bones, and didn’t want to do so again and risk transferring the injuries further from the source. “Yes.” 

“We’re Raksura. Raksura consorts.” He spoke as if this ought to be common knowledge, as if he desperately hoped it was. 

Well, he was going to be disappointed. Again. “What’s a consort?” 

Memory looked even more appalled, if that was possible. It took him a long time to speak again. “Do you know what they want you for?”

Moon’s silence was enough of an answer for him. 

Memory—looked upwards, to the kethel blocking the gap. Since the last time Moon had looked, a number of dakti had gathered there too—it was hard to say how many, their black scales blending with each other in the dim light. 

“First, come here.”

The dakti from before—Moon was almost certain it was the same one who’d come to fetch him—dropped from above and made a circuit about the room to Memory, keeping its distance from Moon. 

“Shift to groundling. He needs to see.”

The dakti looked up at him for a moment—nervous, hesitant—and obeyed. 

Moon had seen dakti in their groundling forms before. This… this was different. Set alongside Moon’s sister and brothers the day they’d died, this boy would have looked more like them than Moon had. He had copper skin like theirs, the same broad stocky build, fair curly hair like Fern’s, the same brown eyes as Bliss and Light. 

But a moment ago he’d been a dakti. 

Memory was tense, ready to throw himself in between them, as if he was afraid that Moon would attack.

“This is my… my oldest child. First.” 

“And the mother?” Moon had a feeling he already knew the answer, but he had to hear it. 

The other man’s voice choked when he answered. “The progenitor of this flight.” When Moon clearly didn’t recognize the word, he clarified, just above a whisper, “The female ruler who leads the rest.” 

Liheas. _Did Liheas want me for his progenitor, not just…?_

Moon wanted to run, to fight, to lash out. But this consort was right; he’d be caught if he tried to run now. 

The rulers had said that “she” was due to clutch, and wouldn’t want him until she had. “How long?” he asked, feeling distant. 

“Longer if she’s happy with this clutch. Sooner if there are only dakti again. But at least half the moon’s cycle.” 

Twenty days. Moon had time. To escape, to… do _something._

* * *

“Can I see him now?”

A new figure dropped down from the gap the kethel’s wing left. 

She looked like a ruler, far more than either of the others, thin with bone-white skin and dark straight hair. But the details were wrong. She had patches of scales on her face, down her neck and shoulders, as if she couldn’t shift all the way to groundling. There were thick braids in her hair, when all the rulers he’d ever seen wore theirs loose. And the faded tunic she wore had been mended at the seams and patched over her knee, as if she’d fallen and split it open.

Fell just stole new clothes when their old ones fell apart, or when they got bored. They made nothing, mended nothing. 

She was looking at him, as if he were a puzzle she couldn’t yet figure out. “You’re the new consort?”

“My name’s Moon.” 

“I’m Consolation.” 

Well, _that_ said a lot. 

The Fell girl seemed to think she needed to reassure him, because she said, “I can keep the rulers away. I already keep them away from him. And someday I’m going to be strong enough to take the flight from _her._ Then we’ll all go live in a big tree with an inside, and you can come too.” 

Memory’s expression was pained, for a moment, as if that was far more complicated than Consolation thought, as if he couldn’t bring himself to take that comfort away from his children. 

“The others want to come too,” she said. Then, sternly, “Don’t try to hurt them. I won’t let you.” 

She didn’t bother to wait for assent, too confident in her ability to enforce that warning. 

The dakti began to drop down from the walls, keeping their distance from Moon despite Consolation’s words. Some shifted as soon as they hit the ground; others kept their wings and claws. 

In Fell form Moon couldn’t tell their age, but when they shifted to groundling he could tell that all of them were young—children and a few adolescents, most with most with the pale skin and straight black hair of the Fell, but some with bronze or copper skin, fair or curling hair. The ones who looked most like Fell had braided their hair to match Consolation’s; the rest wore it loose. 

But they all _acted_ like children, first hanging back shyly, then, ignoring him, playing games and mock-fighting. _Just like we did,_ Moon thought, and his heart clenched. None of these young Fell looked much like his siblings had, shifted—even the few who lacked wings had black scales, and most had heavy bone plates rather than frills and spines—but they acted so much like them that it almost didn’t matter. And when they were in groundling form, sometimes he saw one in the corner of his eye and thought it was Bliss or Leaf or Light or Fern… 

Moon turned away, closed his eyes. The Fell children didn’t talk much, only the odd word in his language or theirs; mostly they hissed and chittered. That, at least, was different.

* * *

Some time later, when the young Fell had worn themselves out—or at least were playing far more quietly—he heard Memory say, “All right, I’ll tell you all a story…” 

There was a sudden gust of wind. Moon opened his eyes and realized that the kethel had joined the rest, shifting to groundling as it (he?) did—just one more figure with Fell-pale skin and braided dark hair, bigger than the rest, no fangs protruding from his mouth. 

“A long time ago there was a young Raksura. She was a daughter queen of Thunder Vine, in the eastern reaches, and her name was… 

“Sand!” someone said gleefully. 

Memory went on, speaking of the young queen, brave and clever, who chafed in a crowded court. As he introduced new characters—the people who followed her, the shamen she went to for advice, her gentle-hearted consort—his audience supplied their names, and sometimes filled in the details he forgot, or pretended to. 

It was clear that he had told this story many times before—so many that any of the children could probably have recited it back to them. But when Moon opened his eyes, he saw that they were rapt with attention. 

Memory went on, telling about Sand’s choice to leave her home, the difficult journey, how she and her people chose their new home and how they built it up. His voice shook, almost imperceptibly, as he told of how they defended themselves for the first time, although the story ended in triumph. 

“And that was Sand Rose court, in the Abascene,” he finished. There was something very final in the way he said that. 

“And that’s us,” said a very young voice. 

So Memory had been telling them about the origins of his lost home, the place and people that the Fell had destroyed except for him. That only lived in his stories, and his children. 

“Does the new consort know stories too?” asked a new voice, deep and rough and hopeful. From the pitch and position, Moon thought that was the kethel. 

He didn’t bother replying.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Moon ignored the others as best he could, and while they didn’t ignore him back, they didn’t bother him.

That night, when some of the dakti brought food, came the first big problem. 

The Fell ate groundlings, Moon knew that; he supposed he’d known they would feed their captives the same. 

He still couldn’t bring himself to eat meat that smelled of people.

Memory was apologetic, and that was almost worse than the situation itself. “There’s no other food.” 

“Well, I’m not eating it.” _Them._

Memory sighed. “Eventually they’ll notice.” 

Meaning that the rulers would take issue with it, but Memory wasn’t going to press the issue himself. 

Moon glanced at the… meat again, and decided he’d deal with the rulers when he had to.

* * *

Moon kept himself from eating for two days, growing weaker as he did. Memory worried; surprisingly, so did the Fell. The dakti tried to ply him with meat and water, or even blood; Consolation watched him anxiously. The kethel kept asking for stories. 

On the second day, a young ruler slipped in to stare at him; Consolation chased him off, and Moon saw her shifted form for the first time, like a Fell ruler’s but with frills and spines like his own layered on top of the plates. 

As hard as it was to trust these people—her spines were stiff with outrage as she defended him. And they’d been leaving him alone. 

On the third day, at what Moon thought might be noon, two dakti dropped from the roof, carrying a tied-cloth sack between them. As they landed, both shifted: First, and one of the braided Fell. 

The unfamiliar dakti held the sack out to Moon, oddly tentative. “Food.”

Well, it didn’t smell of Kilur blood. Moon picked the at the knots—they’d been tied tight—and eventually got it open. Within there was a loaf of stale bread, several bruised fruits, some of the Kilur’s terrible dried fish. It would have been a pretty terrible meal before the city fell, but now, it looked and smelled amazing. 

“Thanks,” he said, and tried not to think about the fact he was thanking a dakti. Or the fact that a dakti had apparently gone out of its way to do him a favor, without any incitement from a ruler, or any apparent ulterior motive. 

First looked back at Moon, ducking his head. “Many things left, in the ruins. And… many escaped. More than usual.” 

Moon wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Even if it hadn’t been a dakti’s attempt at comfort, he wouldn’t have. 

But Memory, apparently, knew exactly what to say. “You shouldn’t have,” he snapped. He sounded angrier than Moon had ever heard him. 

First protested. “Aelen was with me. And anyway, Kethel—”

“Wasn’t with you. He was here, with me and Consolation, and you could have _died_—”

“The dakti leave this chamber all the time,” Moon said. “Why is this different?”

“They don’t leave the main encampment. They stay close to her, and her protection. Out there…” 

Out there, there were rulers who saw dakti as convenient tools, or might want to hurt Consolation through them; groundlings who justifiably wanted them dead. 

The temptation, too, to eat those groundlings. Especially if they started it. 

Of course Consolation’s dakti ate groundlings; it was that or starve, as long as the flight did. But her father didn’t want them hunting them.

* * *

That night, Moon made himself eat some of the same food as the rest. It was hard to make himself choke it down, but Memory was right; there was no point in letting children risk themselves for his comfort. Memory saw; reached out and clasped his wrist gently, then turned away. 

After most of the children had fallen asleep—and when had even the dakti become children?—Moon asked the question that had been bothering him.

“The dakti have names, but not the kethel?”

“I should have named him,” Memory said softly. “But when… when he was new, I was too afraid to do that.” 

Afraid he’d turn out like a normal kethel, nothing but a weapon for the progenitor. 

“But you still let her have him.” 

“How could I not? Taking him in was something a Raksura queen would do. No matter how it might end, I had to let her try. But I couldn’t bring myself take the same risk she did.” He looked down. “The dakti ended up with names anyway, because there were so many of them. But there was only ever the one kethel.” 

Only the one that was ever a person, he meant. 

“That must have been hard,” Moon offered at last, when the silence stretched too far. The words felt inadequate. (Had these children thought that he would be some kind of comfort for their father? If so, they must be disappointed by now.) 

“Everything is.” 

Moon stayed silent a long time. He knew the question he wanted to ask was a bad idea, but… “Did you ever try to run?” 

“I tried, before. Now… even if I could reach the court that mine split from, if I could find it, they wouldn’t take my clutches.” 

From what Memory had carefully avoided saying so far, they probably wouldn’t take Moon, either. Even without half-Fell babies in tow, it was clear that the Raksura had little use for strays and loners.

* * *

The kethel kept on asking for stories. No matter how many times Moon rebuffed him, he was back an hour or a day later with that same question. 

After a few days, Moon gave in and told the children (the Fell) a story about his earlier life, scavenging for food around a groundling settlement. From there, one thing led to another, and the young queen and kethel and a clutter of dakti were around most of the time, begging for another story of Moon’s adventures, or even a groundling legend. 

Memory encouraged it. 

“Have you told them all yours?” Moon asked, once. 

“No. But I don’t know stories about groundlings.” 

Ah. So that was it: Memory wanted him to teach them to see groundlings as something other than prey. It was probably a fool’s errand, but it wasn’t as if he had anything else to occupy himself, these days. (Neither of them did.)

The young ruler kept skulking around, often leaving as soon as Moon noticed him. 

“I can keep him from shifting,” Consolation said. “He can’t hurt you, not here.” 

“But the other rulers know everything he sees,” Memory added, with a sidelong glance at the ruler. “So don’t say anything around him that you don’t want them to know.” 

“Can you do it to anyone?” More importantly, could her mother? As bad as his situation here was, it would be worse if the progenitor could keep him from shifting.

“Only rulers.” Consolation tossed her hair back over her shoulder, a gesture Moon didn’t know how to read. This close, he could see that what he’d taken for braids were actually frills like his own, another remnant of her shifted form like the scales.

“Queens can do that,” Memory said softly. “Although it generally works on other Raksura, rather than on Fell.” His mouth twisted, and Moon read what he wasn’t saying: if it worked on Fell, his colony would be intact and this girl would never have been born. 

_At least there isn’t a queen here._ But Moon knew better than to say that aloud. 

Apparently, the young ruler was less afraid of being trapped in one form than Moon was. He kept coming, and he kept listening to Moon’s stories—always at the back of the group, trying to hide behind uncooperative dakti. Other times, he’d hover at the edge of Consolation’s attention, or Memory’s. 

After several days of this, Moon asked in frustration, “Why is a ruler bothering to spy on us?” 

“He’s not here to spy,” Memory said wearily. “That’s more of a side effect.” 

“Ritheas thinks I’m going to leave the flight,” Consolation said. “Young progenitors do that, sometimes. Young queens too, like Sand.” She left that thought behind at her father’s expression. “He’s trying to decide if he wants to go with me or not.” She was in her shifted form this time, sitting on the ground with her wings folded tightly behind her, tail loosely wound about her knees.

“He can’t think you’d want your mother’s spy around.” 

“He wouldn’t be hers, if he came with me. He’d be _mine._ Like the kethel and dakti are.” 

_Like you,_ she didn’t say, and Moon was grateful. 

“It’s pointless,” Memory said flatly. “The progenitor will never let any of us go.” 

“Then I’ll fight her,” Consolation said. “I’ll fight her and I’ll kill her and I’ll take all the nice ones away, and we’ll find a big tree with an inside and we’ll live there. Like you said.” Her tail lashed in emphasis, and Memory winced a little.

Moon wondered how many of Memory’s desperate fantasies Consolation had taken as plans. Aloud, he only said, “Wait until you’ll know you’ll win.” 

By then he might be dead, or Memory might. But they weren’t the only ones depending on Consolation for what little they had. 

She seemed to understand. “I _will._ I won’t abandon anyone.”

“Then let everyone come,” the kethel said, abruptly. Moon had almost forgotten his presence. 

Consolation looked at him, spines flicking in confusion.

“Everyone who wants to. When they _can_ want things.” 

“Everyone but the rulers, then,” Moon said. As long as the rulers lived, as far as he could tell, the dakti and kethel not under Consolation’s direct protection—the ones who she called hers and called her theirs—were nothing but their tools. 

“Without the progenitor, they can’t control the dakti and kethel,” Memory said, softly. “The rulers will fight for the progenitor, and while she lives, she gives them her power to control the flight. But without that power…” He spread his hands. “I don’t know.” 

“They will come,” the kethel said. He sounded certain. More hesitantly, he added, “A ruler who could not rule…” 

Moon shook his head. “Memory’s right; this is pointless.” He wanted to stalk away, take to the air, get away from this conversation. His wounds were healed; it was possible, physically. 

But outside of this chamber was the rest of the flight. So the best he could do was to climb halfway up the rough rock of the wall, until he found a big enough spar, one he could hang from by his tail and pretend to be asleep.

The others pretended to believe him—or at least kept their distance, which amounted to the same thing, here.

* * *

Everyone else knew something was wrong before Moon did, the children alerted by some connection they still had with the rest of the flight, Memory by their reactions. 

The dakti melted into the crevices and fled up the walls, leaving Moon and Memory—and Consolation, and the young ruler Ritheas, still lurking around and now caught frozen, as if he thought he shouldn’t be be here—the only ones in the open.

It was the progenitor. Even though Moon had never seen her before, he was certain of that. She was in her winged form, all black plates, oddly soft-looking in the dim light. But she moved like a predator, calm and assured in her own power, watching the world around her with cruel amusement. 

She was alone, not that that counted for much. The kethel must have delayed the rulers—or else she didn’t bother bringing them here, where Consolation could keep them in groundling form. 

As though without thinking, Memory put himself between her and Moon. “Back again?” he said, with a kind of false bravado that startled Moon. 

“No rulers in this last clutch either,” she said. “Clearly it’s time for something… _new._” 

Memory drew breath—to argue or beg, Moon wasn’t sure. 

Almost casually, she picked him up by the throat and threw him aside. 

Then she staggered as Consolation, winged and clawed, barreled into her from behind. 

As she whirled, trying to throw her daughter off, Moon leapt at her too. 

Dimly he was aware of First and his friend Aelen, helping Memory away from the fight; Ritheas, groundling-pale despite the danger, hanging as far back as he could without leaving the chamber. _Consolation must be keeping him from shifting,_ Moon realized. He hoped that it didn’t take too much concentration for her; this wasn’t a fight where she could afford to be distracted. 

Moon slashed at the progenitor’s eyes, distracting her from her daughter’s exposed stomach; managed to draw blood from her brow. While she was trying to clear her eyes, Consolation leapt at her again. 

Moon could hear the sounds of another fight, nearby—the adult rulers must be trying to get to their progenitor, and the runt kethel was defending the gap, keeping them from intervening. By the sound, at least some of them were still able to shift, despite Consolation’s efforts. He hoped that the other kethel were too far away for the rulers to try summoning them. 

The cramped space worked to Consolation’s advantage; she was about a third her mother’s size and correspondingly more agile. And, Moon thought, her scales and plates were tougher, her claws sharper. Whatever Raksuran queens were like, he thought that they must be meant to fight in a way that progenitors simply weren’t. 

Moon helped where he could, hindered by his injuries; the progenitor had long since forgotten that she wanted him alive. 

And then, very suddenly, it was over. Consolation was crouched over her mother’s body, staring as if she couldn’t believe what she’d done. She stayed there, spines wavering, until Memory pulled himself painfully up and the moment broke. 

Consolation left her mother’s body, absently shaking the blood off as she ran to her father. She didn’t speak, just knelt beside him, shifting to groundling as she did. She tilted her head, and he reached out to touch her jaw, gently. He didn’t try to tell her he was all right—it would have been an obvious lie—but she seemed reassured. 

She seemed to remember to speak only when she saw Moon. “Are you hurt?” 

“I’ve had worse,” he told her. 

The sounds of fighting outside had died down, and given how unconcerned Consolation and her brothers were, that meant the progenitor’s rulers were dead, and Consolation’s kethel was fine. 

Ritheas, though, was still there. He hadn’t taken a side in the fight, and he wasn’t moving now. Just watching them.

As Consolation turned her attention to him, the young ruler backed up. His face was blank as ever, as if there was no point in lying to another Fell, but his hands were out and empty. “I don’t want to fight you. Please.” 

“Then you can run,” Moon offered. It seemed like a good bargain to him, but who knew with Fell. _With rulers._

“I want to stay.” And that actually sounded like emotion, in his voice. 

First and Aelen chittered, keeping their distance; Moon couldn’t make out any words. Memory was silent, still clutching his side. Consolation tilted her head, one long frill-braid falling over her shoulder. “We killed your sire.” 

“Yes.” 

“And you?” 

Ritheas hesitated a moment before answering. (Moon thought that was the most genuine tell he’d ever seen from a ruler.) “I don’t want to be lonely. The others are too young to leave. Even if you let me take them I couldn’t keep them alive. I would rather live with—with _everyone_—than be alone. Even if I have to change to do it.” 

Moon could understood that. He was startled to realize that he actually believed what the ruler was saying. He’d thought he knew better than to believe a ruler ever again. (And when had it become “a ruler” and not “a Fell,” anyway?) 

Consolation seemed to think he meant it too. “Don’t kill any groundlings, and don’t hurt any dakti or kethel from this flight.” She flexed her claws to emphasize that point. “And don’t touch our consorts.” She was growling a little by the end. Some distant, buried part of Moon found that…reassuring. 

“I won’t,” Ritheas promised. Moon didn’t bother looking at his expression; he watched Consolation instead. She inclined her head in acknowledgment, flicked a couple of her spines in a gesture he’d only ever seen from her father. Then she turned to the two dakti, and switched to Raksuran. “Are the babies safe?” 

First tilted his head. “Gentle has them. Yes.” Then, tentatively, “The rulers?”

“They’re too young to fly yet. We’ll treat them the same as the rest.” 

Memory smiled as she said that. And Ritheas relaxed, almost imperceptibly. He’d been worried about his… brothers, probably. Moon wondered how a transfer of power in a Fell flight usually went, if normal progenitors overthrew their mothers, and if so how much blood was shed in the process. 

“And what about the rest of the flight?” Moon said, when no one else did. “The rulers may be dead, but the rest of the dakti and the other three kethel—”

“Her rulers are dead,” Consolation repeated. “Without them, the others have a choice.” She tilted her head, as if she was listening to something, or someone. “Most of them are choosing to stay.” 

Most, but not all. 

“You should go out to them,” Memory said softly. 

“Yes,” she said, quickly as if she was embarrassed not to have thought of it herself. “Stay with him,” she said, to Moon or First, he wasn’t sure, although it was clear she wanted her father protected. Then she was gone, winged and clawed gain and flying, out towards her kethel and the flight. Some of her other dakti emerged from the shadows to follow her. 

Moon should probably be worried about her, but he wasn’t. She had the kethel waiting for her, and she’d just killed the progenitor anyway. He walked over to Memory and asked, “How bad is it?” 

“… I’ve had worse.” 

_I’ll bet you have._ “Do you want to see?” 

“No. I can smell that she’s dead. And Consolation… she really…” 

“She’ll be fine.” 

There was a long silent pause in the dim emptiness. Even with First still there, they were as alone as they had ever been.

“Are you going to stay?”

Stay with the Fell; stay with the only other Raksura he’d ever found. Stay where he didn’t have to hide… 

Moon had no answer. Not yet.

* * *

A few days later, when he wasn’t as worried about Memory’s health and the flight had settled down some, Moon told Memory and Consolation that he was going to scout a flying island that was passing overhead. “If it’s unoccupied, we could live there for a while.” He wanted out of the Kilur cliffs. The groundlings had long since fled, but the place still stank of death. 

“And if it isn’t?” Consolation asked. 

“Then I don’t want anyone else with me. I can run or hide more easily if I’m on my own.” And if he was seen alone, there was a small chance that the island’s hypothetical inhabitants wouldn’t think he was a Fell. 

“That’s reasonable,” Memory said, as if he was thinking of something else entirely. 

Consolation accepted that, and Moon left for the flying island alone.

* * *

As it turned out, being mistaken for a Fell wasn’t a problem. The island had been inhabited once, but not for a long, long time. Moon couldn’t smell any trace of a predator or of a recent visit by groundling or skyling. 

Instead, the place was full of plants. Below the island, air roots trailed down into the sky, winding and knotting around each other into masses thick and strong enough to bear his weight. Above, huge trunks and stems reached upwards, with large mossy clearings in between—a few of them big enough for a Fell-form kethel to lie down. They’d have more trouble moving between them, even groundling-shifted, but the dakti, at least, would be easily able to scramble through the branches and vines. The weakest fliers would have to keep track of the island’s edges, but most would have no trouble. 

After so much time in first a living city, then among Fell in a dead one, the smell of the island was refreshing, clean sap and—water. Huh. That was a surprise, and it was near the island’s center. 

As he moved towards that tantalizing smell, Moon noticed that he trees made for a good windbreak; in the central parts of the island, the harsh winds of the upper air were replaced with a gentle breeze. (It’d be easier on Memory here, he thought.)

Near the center of the island, Moon found two ruins: one reduced to foundations that the trees hadn’t yet reclaimed, the other sound except for the lack of wooden roofs and floors. And between them the source of the water-scent: an ancient device that caught clouds from the air and fed the moisture into a brimming cistern. It looked to be still working; whatever had driven the island’s inhabitants away, it hadn’t been thirst. 

It might not last, of course, with a full flight depending on it. And the island could always drift somewhere it wasn’t wise to go, like the open ocean or Imperial Kish. They’d almost certainly have to abandon it one day. But it was the best they were going to get.

As Moon perched on the edge of the cistern, it occurred to him that Memory had been giving him a chance to run, just in case he didn’t trust them to let him go. 

(Or in case _Memory_ didn’t trust them, even after everything.) 

He shook his head at that latter idea. No; he thought Memory knew his children better than that. 

Moon did too. And he was tired of hiding. 

He jumped to the nearest tree, then took off with the force he hadn’t wanted to exert on the fragile old machine. He took a last look over the island, fixing it in his mind, before flying downward, towards Memory and his family.

* * *

Moon found the others at the mouth of one of the very highest caves—one that the flight had only moved into after Consolation’s ascension. She was there, surrounded by dakti and flanked by her kethel; Memory was nearby, watching proudly. 

Some of the younger children, who’d been playing under their father’s watch, came running over to Moon as he landed.

“Moon came back!” 

“Of course I did.” Moon swung the smallest one onto his hip. “Want to hear what I found?


End file.
